Brent Stinebaker
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II-87 A Birth and a Death (I)
🕑 Added 2025-04-17 08:59:12 +0000 UTCI am the end of all roads.
I am the conclusion at the end of time.
I am that which waits in the dark.
I am the place where light fades.
I am the post-script of all tales, the epilogue of all legends, the harbinger of that final harvest.
And when my moon rises, when my howl is heard, when the rivers carry you to the dark, I will be waiting.
Run. Do not run. Struggle. Accept.
It makes no difference.
You will come to me. And I will be waiting.
-The Hound of the Withered Moon
II-87
A Birth and a Death (I)
Wei and his group approached the lines of Wrath to the accompaniment of Aerea’s pained moans. The young master did what he could to hide his discomfort. One ugly thing about having limited Omniscience was that you had to face everything happening around you. Everything. Especially the contractions another person was experiencing, or how the babe inside them was trying to slide out.
It wasn’t like Wei didn’t know how the mechanics of breeding worked, but it was more that he didn’t want an overdose of detail blasted into his mind with each passing second.
“Endure,” his Shell muttered, equally nauseous. The young master gave Aerea a brief look and found himself awkwardly meeting her gaze.
“You will be taken care of. This I promise. I promised your betrothed, I mean.”
Despite the pain painting her features, she offered him a slight smile. She ran her palm along the flat of Mourning’s length and spoke with a rasping throat. “What is your name? You went through so much to save me, but I don’t even know who you are.”
“This one is Patriarch Wei An Wei of the Drowned Sky Sect,” Wei said, throwing his head back proudly. As the initial discomfort peeled away from him, his natural boastfulness returned. “Your rescue was a thing of mutual interest and genuine honor. Even if I was not of a party with your beloved, I would have come to save you. Slavery is abhorrent, and defiles the virtuous spirit of a man.”
Aerea blinked slowly as she winced. Another ripple of cold almost escaped her, but the Essence was absorbed into the blade laid against her body. “I see… And how old are you? You look so… so young.” Her gaze drifted from Wei to take in the other slaves—especially Faen. “All so young.”
“I am old enough to know the consequences of weakness. And that there are no elders coming to save me.” Wei’s demeanor shifted from heated boasting to bitter cynicism in an instant, and with his declaration died the faint smirk on Aerea’s face.
“I am sorry,” she whispered to him.
“No. You are the wrong person to be sorry. I seek only lamentations and apologies from another: Your slaver will see her end soon enough. Of this, I will make sure.”
At the mention of the Collectress, Aerea went deathly still and shivered. “She wanted to harvest my child.”
Wei’s lips curled in disgust. “Harvest? As if you are some kind of crop?”
“The babe bears the touch of death within him. A Scion born of a Scion. It should have been impossible—it would have been impossible without Mourning… But still, to lose my son to a monster like her.”
“Banish the thought,” Wei said. “You will be a mother. Vendrian will be a father. You will do right by your son. I can see it on your face.”
And then there was another thing Wei hated about Omniscience—it couldn’t let him ignore things. Like William was fighting to keep his own face under control, with his tendons and muscles were pulled tight, as if preparing for a brawl. His tension only grew when figures climbed out of the inner ring of trenches that surrounded the base behind them.
Wei studied the Essence Signatures of those approaching him. There were four of them, and each was around the level of his Eidolon—Marquis and no more. Yet, there was a strange synergy between them. Their Essence passed from each to each like they were conduits, and the heavy, black obsidian of rune-covered armor also gave off an amplifying effect that Wei couldn’t ignore.
Each of them towered over Wei—nearly twice his height.Their armor was made to resemble something like a stone-carved bear, and their eyes burned like pieces of coal within the open jaws of their ursine helmets. Then, there were the weapons they carried. It was like a spear and cannon melded together. A jutting edge on the bottom and an open barrel on the top that hissed with searing energies.
Instead of rushing him like savages or deliberately provoking him in any manner, they took on a spread out formation, kept their guns low, and one of their members strode forth, approaching to meet Wei before the others.
“Hold for a moment,” he said, his voice sounding like the drone of passing thunder. Yet, despite the heaviness of his voice, there was little heat or threat in his tone. He produced something from his Inventory. It resembled a flying sphere, and it sailed over Wei and the others, drifting directly overhead. The young master felt a concentrated beam of Perceptive Essence wash over him and the others before the mystical drone returned. With a flash of light, it went from a sphere to a marble in the Sinner’s hands, and he nodded. “Alright. They’re cleared. Essence is pure. These ones ain’t changelings.”
With a wave, more Sinners emerged from the trenches—followed by a few strange demons. One of them looked slightly like the nightmarish bed William recovered on after his duel with Wei. It had far too many limbs and tubes connected to it, while twisted hands reached out to receive Mourning and Aerea. Hooves pounded beneath the bedframe, carrying them upon fleet feet while flying imps in white labcoats drifted to look over her.
“Wei?” Aerea said, her breathing growing labored, her anxiety spiking.
“Don’t worry,” William answered, cutting into the conversation. “They’ll make sure your delivery is successful. You’ll probably need surgery—a c-section.”
“What is a—” Aerea let out a slight gasp as one of the imps cast a Skill on her. Immediately, Wei watched her expression turn intoxicated as her eyes lost focus. A sigh of comfort escaped her. The young master took a step forward before his father caught him by the arm.
“Easy,” William said. “They just hit her with a dose of magical Morphine.”
But Wei still felt wronged. Offended somehow. “Without telling us?”
“Are you a doctor? Did you run off to master the healing arts at some point without me knowing?” William snorted.
There it was: the snort. The chastising. Like he knew everything about Wei, and who he was. Wei pushed his father away in a burst of anger and stormed toward the Sinners of Wrath. “You!” He called out, pointed at the soldier that came out to meet them. “Take me to your Duke. I wish to speak with them, and offer my gratitude personally.”
The soldier looked him up and down for a moment before a large grin played across his face. A tendril of Essence slithered out from their body, and Wei knew they were sending a message somewhere. A second later, the soldier responded. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. You’re the Breaker, right? The cultivator kid who fucked up Many-wed.”
Wei tightened his grip around his glaive. “Yes. What of it?”
“Nothing. That shit was tight,” the Sinner of Wrath chuckled. “I thought you were insane, but you just fucked her ass up over and over. Never seen anything like it. Come on, get down in the trenches. I’ll show you and your boys and girls to the barracks, get you some grub first. Oh, before I forget.”
The Sinner produced something else from their Inventory, and Wei found himself staring at a piece of paper with moving images. Images taken from his duel with Many-wed. He watched a stylistic rendition of himself drive his Eidolon into the Countess over and over again, brutalizing her beyond measure. Had he been so vicious? He could scarcely remember—was more focused on displaying his martial mastery through the entire affair.
Wei looked up at the Sinner, and his gaze made them grunt in surprise. “Right. Forgot the pen.” Another burst of Spatial Essence, and Wei found himself dealing with a quill-like instrument.
The young master just blinked. “I…”
“He wants you to write your name on it,” William explained. “You got a fan.”
“A… fan…”
“More than one,” another one of the massive soldiers added, before producing some moving papers of their own.
“I…” Wei accepted the pen and hummed thoughtfully to himself.
Fans…
***
“...Silt of Storms was an insult,” Wei practically snarled, waving a finger at his growing gathering of devotees. “The fact Many-wed thought she was an appropriate enemy for me to face was tantamount to pissing in my tea!”
Laughs and jeers rose among the crowd, and Wei couldn’t help but grin. A few hundred Sinners of Wrath gathered before him in the mess hall. Almost all of them were armored, dressed, and armed similarly, and most were entranced by his in-person retelling of his battle in the Bloodgrounds.
A few tables away, the slaves he saved ate rations provided to them as they looked on with awe. William, meanwhile, just stared at Wei flatly as he exchanged messages with Bishop.
It was surprising how quickly the atmosphere could shift. One signed paper turned to two to ten and then more. Then came the questions. Then they were walking along the barracks, and entering a dense network of bunkers—that was interesting as well. The Circle of Wrath had one of the most sophisticated defensive networks Wei ever observed. There were checkpoints and kill-boxes, and all manner of traps, dead-ends, and other strange terms he never heard before.
For a long while, he imagined the Circle of Wrath to be brutal and vicious, something for creatures unbound in strength and endurance, but lacking in mind or skill. What the soldiers here showed him was something else. Yes, they were boisterous, but there was also a discipline to them. A discipline that was vaguely reflected in his father—or Bishop. They were clearly of a unified martial tradition with how they interacted amongst each other. Wei entered their inner barracks to a shower of compliments, challenges, and crude jokes, and soon, he found himself boasting in return.
Because why shouldn’t he boast? Why shouldn’t he revel in his just deeds?
“But still, man, that disrespect was nasty,” one of the soldiers called out to him. They mimed how casually he slew Slit of Storms, and Wei scoffed at the memory.
“She deserved the disrespect. If you face someone in a proper duel, have some decency to make it worth their while.”
Loud, raucous laughter burst out from the gathered soldiers as they started chattering amongst themselves. A few of them started calling him “Babyface Pai Mei” or “Zhanny Cultivator.” He wasn’t sure what either name was referencing or why they called him that, but it didn’t sound malicious, and Wei appreciated being showered with genuine appreciation.
He really needed more of this. Good moments for his ego.
For whatever reason, his Shell continued to sigh and grunt with displeasure. He wasn’t sure why the Skill was behaving that way. This was a moment of joy to break up the misery.
Just then, Wei felt the pinching sensation of a teleportation. Then, the full presence of a Duke-Tier Sinner slammed down on him and everyone else in the room. At once, all the soldiers shot to their feet with their arms by their sides and their heads straight. The grins and laughter faded immediately. Only well-conditioned discipline remained.
“I want to know something!” A new voice spoke. It was the same voice that addressed Wei earlier. A voice of authority—laced with more than a bit of self-importance. “I want to know what possesses someone to walk across No Demon’s Land on foot, under constant artillery. And I want to know how in all the hells they survived long enough to reach my doorstep without even needing any bit of personal medical attention.”
Wei narrowed his eyes, and the soldiers parted before him. From between their ranks came a man… much smaller than Wei expected. He was wearing a uniform of some kind. With a strange roundish hat, black, reflective spectacles, and a long mallet-like pipe. Walked toward Wei with both hands behind his back, and the young master tried to take in the sight before him.
So focused he was on the approaching Duke of Wrath that he almost missed the orc following a few steps behind him. There, shadowing the General was an orc in a fine suit—something Wei would have expected from the Circle of Greed or pride. He wore a tie that dripped with blood, and in his hands simmered a cup of hot coffee. He, too, wore spectacles, but his were clear, and he observed Wei with cold-blue eyes that hinted at a dangerous intellect.
Kalrus the Forgemaster: Lv. 90
Wei blinked. Ah. Another challenger for Hell’s Vanguard was standing before him.
Returning his attention to the general, Wei forced an expression of indifference on his face and offered a salute to the General. “My gratitude for your aid, General.”
The man sneered. “Yeah. You can give me gratitude by answering the question: What possessed you to walk the wastes.”
Wei met his gaze. “It was quick. And we were in a hurry.”
That made the General pull his pipe out and try to hide a laugh. “To do what? Die?”
“Only if I was weak. Or lacking in skill.”
General Douglas MacArthur pulled off his sunglasses before staring at Wei for a long moment. Neither blinked. “You’re entirely serious, aren’t you.”
“Why… wouldn’t I be?” Wei asked, confused.
The General shook his head and looked at William. “You produce the strangest bastards, Captain Yu, you know that?”
“Bastard,” Wei said, his nostrils flaring. Then, he paused. “Bastards?” He looked at his father again, his expression twisting between disbelief, fury, and horror. “I have siblings?”
“Half-siblings,” William muttered quietly. “And it’s had.”
Wei fell silent at that again. “How… how long…”
“Later,” William said.
Wei wanted to continue. Well, more honestly, he wanted to pin his father against the wall and hammering the man’s skull until he was punching nothing but pulped meat and imprinting his knuckles into the bunker, but he mastered himself. That didn’t stop him from glaring at his father—or MacArthur from noticing.
“I told you this was going to be the outcome,” the General continued. “Bad for you, and bad for the locals. But you can’t seem to stop dipping your ink on the pages you have to burn.”
William barely reacted to the General’s comment. “Yeah, don’t really give a shit. We’re here. The arrangement is on. Do you want to talk business, or do you want to continue waving your ancient cock in front of us?”
A look of displeasure passed over the General’s face. “If you were still one of mine—”
“I’m not. And there isn’t much more you can do to me that I haven’t done to myself. So. We going to waste more time?
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Brent Stinebaker
New TTF and Godclads chapter in progress
